


An Eventful Evening

by StarsAreMassive



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Descriptions of homophobic attack, Ian gets arrested, M/M, Season 10 AU, gay slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsAreMassive/pseuds/StarsAreMassive
Summary: Tony Markovich was a simple man with simple pleasures. But the Gallaghers always did like to put a spanner in the works.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Tony Markovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 10
Kudos: 189





	An Eventful Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as:  
> Black and Yellow series  
> Encounters with Exes series  
> Tying the Know series

Once upon a time, life had looked so simple to one Tony Markovich.

As a kid, in those early little memories that are fuzzy around the edges, he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to be a cop. His mom, who picked out all of his clothes even when he wanted to wear that green shirt with the neon yellow splash on the front, and she’d strolled right passed it in the store, had always loved it when he’d ran around in his little police uniform. Every Halloween he put on the cap and the badge and answered ever single door with _“Freeze! In the name of the law!”._

So when the teachers asked him in kindergarten, _“Tony, what do you want to be when you grow up?”_ , the answer was simple: _“A police officer, Miss Krinsky.”_ It was the same answer in elementary school when he’d begged and pleaded to get into the junior police cadets programme. It was the same answer that drove him to achieve grades good enough to get into Northwestern but not apply. You see, Tony wanted to police the South Side of Chicago where he was born and raised. Mom always tried to tell him that where he came from didn’t define him, but he didn’t mind where they lived. Once he became a police officer, he’d be able to help everyone and it wouldn’t feel like such a bad place to live anyhow, so what did it really matter? See? Easy. 

So despite his mom’s bewilderment, he went to Olive-Harvey City College and studied Criminal Justice. He was a cadet, too, obviously, and he got busy getting to know his future fellow officers by helping out with all the community events, organising fundraisers, and doing every little thing he could to boost the morale of the hard-pressed cops of Chicago. Then the second he turned 21, he submitted his application (he’d written it when he was eighteen and had tweaked it as he saw fit over the years), aced all his interviews and tests, and threw himself into life at the academy. He became the police officer he was always destined to be, and his simple life was wonderful. 

It really was. But those Gallaghers. 

Tony always thought Fiona Gallagher was the prettiest girl in the world. He would watch her at school because her hair looked so soft, he wanted to ask her every recess if he could just touch it - just for a second! He’d be super gentle and everything. But he was never quite brave enough. He would face off against bullies twice his size in a heartbeat (and usually lost but that wasn’t the point), but put him in front of a little girl with messy pigtails, scraped knees, and eyes just like his favourite chocolate bar, and Tony was hot a mess. 

As they grew up, he heard the snickers that followed her: a dad whose drunkenness was the stuff of legend and a wack-a-doodle mom made for ripe pickings as they went through school, but Fiona’s quick hands shut them up real fast. After Tony became a fully-qualified cop, which was the proudest day of his life for a long time, he did his best to keep an eye out for Fiona and her band of scrappy siblings. He turned blind eyes, believed outrageously thin lies, and did his best to chase off their most unsavoury company. Turning up uninvited and announcing himself with jovial familiarity worked wonders, and when that failed, outright chasing them out of town was an alternative he’d used before. Goddamn Jimmy.

And for one brief shining moment, he had everything he’d ever wanted. He was a cop, he had a mother who loved him, and he was dating Fiona Gallagher. The simple plan he’d picked out for himself as a kid was working out marvelously. Until it wasn’t, and Fiona dumping him like yesterday’s tacos after taking his virginity in the back of his squad car was only the tip of the iceberg. 

As it turned out, Tony Markovich liked boys. 

It came as a surprise, if he was being honest with himself. Sure, he’d always found it easy to admit when a man was attractive, but that’s because he was raised by his mom and didn’t have any of that _“toxic masculinity, Tony, sweetie”_ to tell him it was wrong. Everyone liked receiving compliments, right?

But a year or so after the Fiona Fiasco, Tony had been out at a bar with some buddies - that evening’s designated driver. Harry Pultzman was new to the squad. He was a happily dedicated teetotaller, but he didn’t have a drivers license yet. So, in a show of solidarity, he’d kept Tony sober company all night. He was a funny kinda guy, always quick with a joke and a nudge to get a laugh out of Tony. The night was winding down, and everyone was struggling to stay upright, or were already asleep, heads on the bar. Harry was doing an excellent impression of their belligerent captain - who was a bit of a bastard, Tony had to admit - with some pistachio shells and a couple of straws. Tony had tears in his eyes and was choking for breath through his laughter. Harry was grinning at him as he wiped at his eyes and one second Tony saw Harry’s teeth shining in the dimly lit bar and the next there was a soft pressure on his lips and Tony jolted so hard, his beer bottle went flying. 

Harry had jerked back, eyes wide and hand over his mouth and Tony’s brain pretty much flat lined and all he could do was stare. As the bottle smashed all over the floor, a jeer went through the bar and the rest of Chicago’s finest decided it was high time Tony took them home. But Harry was already standing, jacket on, and Tony idly worried that he might be hyperventilating. 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” he whispered, so the cops about to converge on Tony couldn’t hear. “I thought you were - I’m such an idiot. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

And before Tony’s brain could catch up with what just happened, Harry fled the bar. And the state, as it happened. Tony received the word on Monday morning that Harry had transferred out. 

It took a while for Tony to process and sort out exactly how he felt about the whole thing. He’d shrugged it off initially, put it to the back of his mind and went on with his simple life. But in his quiet moments, he couldn’t quite shake the ghost of Harry’s kiss; the slight prickle of his stubble, the harder line of his lips and the solidness of another man pressing so far into his intimate space. Then one night, on his way home, he walked past the mouth a street full of light and people and music. Before he could think, his feet had taken Tony Markovich right into the middle of South Side Chicago’s gay scene. 

He’d remember that night for the rest of his life. It was frightening and overwhelming. He had no idea what he was doing. But for the first time in his life the hairs on his arms stood up, his heart pounded, his palms sweated - he didn’t even know palms could sweat. It was like everything just clicked into place and even though he was scared out of his mind, there was no turning back. 

So, he had a lot to learn but from that day forward, Tony fully embraced his sexuality. He joined the local chapter for gay members of Chicago’s emergency services and threw himself into being a positive part of the community just as much as he’d thrown himself into being a cop in the first place. 

He’d briefly worried that some of his less open-minded colleagues would give him hell for it, but if anyone minded, they had enough grace to keep their mouths shut about it. His partner had just shrugged when Tony told him, and asked if he had remembered to pick up donuts. Okay, so some stereotypes were true but donuts were an absolutely valid breakfast food. Sue him. The only thing that did change, was that all of a sudden, Tony found himself as the resident gay mascot of South Side’s police force. Whenever the gays found themselves on the wrong side of the law or in need of a little bit of help, you could be sure as sugar that if Tony was on shift, the call was his. 

And on his fourth Saturday evening shift in a row, when Tony was feeling more than tired and less than pleasant which was rare enough itself, this was exactly what was waiting for him the second he stepped over the threshold of the police station. 

“Markovich! About damn time!” Nicholas _Call-me-Nick-or-Nicky-and-I’ll-lock-you-up-I-swear-to-God_ Goulding shouted at him from the front desk. Nicholas manned that station like he was born for it. Never since Tony had known him, had anyone ever managed to throw themselves over it. The regulars had learned to mind their mouths and their manners, otherwise Nicholas could and would drag the whole process out for far longer than it had to be. 

Tony gave a mild mannered huff. “I’m fifteen minutes early.”

Nicholas grumpily looked between Tony and the clock, but offered no apology. “Yeah, well, coulda done with you coming by an hour ago. We got some crazy kid in the back, screaming up a storm. Needs your kinda touch to shut him the HELL UP!” He shouted the last part over his shoulder, and sure enough, Tony could hear someone yelling themselves hoarse. 

_“Uncuff me you corrupt motherfuckers! I wouldn’t be here if you could do your damn jobs! What - I’m the one that ain’t broken no laws but ya got me chained here? Fuck you!”_

Tony gently placed his coffee on Nicholas’ desk. “We don’t call them crazy, Nicholas. Dammit you’ve been to the seminar three times already. It’s not hard. And since when have I been the go to guy for mental health cases? We’ve got advocates for that.”

Nicholas rolled hi eyes and snatched up Tony’s coffee for himself - very much against his wishes, he might add. “Bah. Seminar shmeminar. And that’s not what I mean,” he mumbled into Tony’s cup. 

“What - “

_“Good to know our boys in blue are stuck in the 19-fuckin’-50s! Ya bunch of homophobes, chaining the queer instead of those Nazi punks!”_

Tony was at peak annoyance for the Markovich family. He groaned deep and threw his head back. Nicholas, bless him, seemed to grasp the gravity of the sound and hastily pushed Tony’s less than half full cup back at him. 

“Really? You’ve left some gay kid sitting around for an hour waiting for me to get in? Hell, you can’t catch it, Nick!” 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Nicholas barked. “Woah, now. I’ve got nothing against you guys!” Tony scoffed. “I don’t! But I also don’t wanna have to lock the kid up.” Nicholas leaned forward, a grin spreading over his rosy cheeks. “You wanna know why he’s in here?”

Despite himself, Tony was intrigued. “Why?”

“You know those little white supremacist fuckers?”

“The Milkoviches?”

“Fuck no! Shit those kids are keeping quiet these days. I think they might be dead. Only Terry's still being a royal pain in the ass. Nah, that group of skinheads that’s been doin’ a bunch of smash and grabs in lower North Side? Well he stumbles across ‘em earlier. Just loitering or something, and they start callin’ after him, calling him - well. You know.”

Tony did. He’d made himself perfectly clear whenever anyone on his shift tried to say that that lovely word. 

“Well the kids just, goes off, apparently. Lays all four of those shits out. The only reason he’s here is because the Johnson and Callaway had to pull him off one of ‘em. He’s been like that -” Nicholas jerks his head back where the voice is still yelling - “Ever since. Now we’ve all wanted to put those shits on their asses, but if he doesn’t calm down soon, we ain’t gonna be able to write this off.”

The clouds cleared for Tony. “So you’re hoping that I can calm him down. Queers unite, and all that?”

Nicholas nodded vigorously. “Well, yeah.”

Tony bit down on his lip, suppressing another impressive groan, and nodded. Ignoring Nicholas’ pleading, only slightly apologetic eyes, he strode behind the desk and made his way towards all the hollering. He could already hear the kid, whoever he was, getting other perps all riled up.”

“Will you put a fuckin’ sock in it, before I shove this bench up your ass!”

“Yeah try it asshole! Fat son of a bitch, you’d keel over before you took ten steps!”

“The fuck did you just say to me? This is all muscle baby. ‘Ey, man, get me out these cuffs! I know he’s annoying the shit out of you, too!”

“Yeah god forbid I annoy a bunch of nazi-lovin’ pricks!”

A room full of jeers and roars at the kid’s words rose up like a wave. Great. Just great. If he didn’t nip this in the bud now, they were going to have a full scale riot on their hands. 

Tony took the last few steps to where one of the officers had pointed. The kid stood out like a beacon. Even sitting, Tony could see he was tall, the red hair covering the back of his head like a beacon. In fact, the “kid” was not a kid at all, he came to realise. He was a fully fledged man, and worse than that, a fully fledged Irish American queer. 

Ian Fucking Gallagher. 

Tony just watched him thrash around on that bench for a few seconds, foaming at the mouth and spewing vitriol at everybody. He’d worked himself into fine form. Maybe Nicholas’ words weren’t too far off the mark. He remembered hearing something about Ian inheriting his mom’s bipolar disorder. Tony wasn’t an expert by any means, but he wasn’t entirely sure that’s what this was. What he was witnessing was the true signature of a Gallagher at breaking point. The last time he’d seen this particular Gallagher, he’d started an all out brawl at a friendly baseball game. Hereditary, yes. But not the same as a mental disorder. 

So, whilst Ian faced away from him wriggling in his cuffs, Tony strode over and set himself down on the bench next to Ian, cutting off his latest tirade. 

Ian’s eyes were stormy and flickering as they looked at him in quiet surprise. Good. Tony needed to throw him off the track he was tearing down right now.

“Markovich?” And you wouldn’t believe that sweet of sugar voice was uttering such unspeakable things just seconds before. 

“Gallagher. Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

As if reminded of his predicament, Ian was scowling again and tugging forcefully at his wrists. Though he didn’t start shouting again, which Tony was taking as a win. 

“Yeah. Well.”

Tony dropped his voice low and leaned into Ian’s ear. “I’m kinda hoping you’re not on any kinda parole right now. Hmm?”

Ian bucked his shoulder, forcing Tony away, and shook his head. “No. Got off about six months ago.”

Tony nodded and gave Ian a bit of space. He drummed his fingers lightly on his coffee cup - he really should start taking his own. Kinder to the planet and all that - before he broached the subject.

“So,” he said cheerfully. “Goulding tells me you’re crazying it up back here after dabbling in a little bit of good ol’ fashioned assault.”

“Oh fuck you, Tony - “

Tony’s laughs cut Ian off before he could get going again, and he nudged Ian’s meaty shoulder with his own. “Relax. The guys you wailed on are well known to us, you best believe.” 

Ian’s shoulders slumped in relief at that, and Tony watched some of the tension bleed away. 

“But all the same, two officers had to restrain you, and you have not been making friends since they brought you in.”

Ian kicked the ground moodily. 

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Why? Sounds like you know it all, already.”

Tony could not with this kid today. “Jesus, are you twenty or twelve?”

Ian shot Tony a nasty glare. “Twenty two, if your old ass has to know.”

Tony rolled his eyes and flicked the back of Ian’s head ( _"What the fuck, Tony?!"_ ). “Uhuh. Humour me. I wanna hear it from you.” 

Ian’s lips twisted in an unhappy grimace. He was quiet, and Tony was in no rush to poke the very upset Irish bear. Eventually, Ian shook his head and scowled at the ground. 

“It’s this fucking place, man. It never changes. It’s always been a shit hole and always will be a shit hole. And everyone in it.”

“Hey, speak for yourself!” Tony kept it light. “Besides, you can’t stop gentrification. The upper-middle class are coming, my friend.”

“Fuck gentrification and the upper middle class. Let ‘em polish a turd if they want. And die tryin’”

“Jesus, Ian. Who took a piss in your cheerios?”

“Those ignorant homophobic fucks who -” Ian cut him self off. 

“Who what?” Tony prodded gently.

Ian cursed under his breath. “Alright. Okay, just -” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was headin’ to meet Mickey at work after his shift, yeah? We do it whenever we can because my shifts are so fucked, and we grab a slice and a shake and walk home together. That’s it. Except half way there, those assholes start callin’ out at me - like I’m a fourteen year old closet case who won’t drop ‘em on their ass.”

“Okay. What’s I’m hearing is someone called you a slur, and you beat the daylights out of them. So what aren’t you telling me?”

“So I don’t know if you’ve stumbled across this particular kind of abuse from the heteros, Tony, But for some fucking reason, they think they can prove their love for pussy by grabbin’ on us.”

No, Tony hadn’t experienced that kind of taunting, he had to admit, and it had always confused him. If you were thought disgusted by two boys being together, how did putting your hands all over one make that clear?

“So we get to shoving each other, then one jerk off says, ‘Bet you like this, bitch!’ and tries to shove his damn hands down my pants, so I laid him and his asshole goons the fuck out.” 

“Hey,” Tony says firmly before Ian could work himself up into gear again. “I can sell self-defense from attempted sexual assault all day long, Ian.”

It worked and the younger boy deflated. Tony knew how hard Ian had worked to stay on the straight and narrow since his release from prison. He wasn’t about to let some homophobic thugs ruin it for this kid he’d seen grow up. 

Ian managed a weak smile, until they heard the bang of the door to the police station kick open, and Mickey Milkovich thundered through. 

“Gallagher! Where is he?” Mickey barked at Goulding behind the desk. 

“Can I help you?” he asked mildly. 

Next to him, Ian snorted, and Tony noticed a bit of life was back behind his eyes. Tony smirked and fished out his keys so he could unlock Ian’s cuffs. Ignoring the jeers and complaints of the rest of riffraff. He led Ian out to the front, where Mickey was growing increasingly red in the face, and Goulding looked like he was having the time of his life. 

“Listen good you miserable, wrinkled old ball sack! Get back on that computer and find me Ian Fuckin’ Gallagher, or I’ll burn-”

“Mick,” Ian breathed and silenced Mickey in a heartbeat. They looked at each other for a second, before Mickey was striding forward and enveloping Ian in a hug so hard and tight it looked painful to Tony. But Ian sighed and put all his weight on his partner. 

There wasn’t much space between them, but Tony thought he heard a muffled, _“Was fuckin’ worried about you.” “M’sorry, Mick.”_

Tony smiled to himself, and quickly filled Goulding in so he could complete the paperwork. The would need to question Ian later and take his statement formally. But he doubted those men who attacked him would try to push any charges, and frankly they didn’t have much of a leg to stand on if they did. As Goulding clacked away on his keys, Tony let himself watch the couple. Mickey 2.0, as Tony liked to call him in his head, had taken him completely by surprise. It was like he turned around one day and that dirty, angry kid was replaced by a brave young man. He would never have though Mickey had such pale skin, soft looking hair, or pink lips. He knew it was wrong. Even if Mickey was gay, he was much younger than Tony, but nevertheless, the embers of a teeny, tiny crush had developed. He never really crossed paths with Mickey after he came out - but god. He still remembered where he was when he heard the story. 

Steven had come in looking stunned behind a thrashing Terry Milkovich. He’d quietly said to the gathering crown of police officers, who were all as nosey as gossiping neighbours, honestly, “You won’t _believe_ this.” Then, he proceeded to regale them all with the thrilling tale of Mickey Milkovich, the one they were all convinced was going to follow in Terry’s footsteps and lead their criminal family once the old man croaked, announcing to the streets of Southside how much he loved dick - sucking it, taking it, it didn’t matter - all whilst humping a cop car. 

It had become something of an urban legend, to be honest, and Tony had paid a bit more attention to him after that. Sure, occasionally, he wondered exactly what an openly gay Milkovich was like. Sometimes, he even wondered how he kissed. But watching the two men, who had finally pulled apart and were murmuring to each other, Tony quite happily let go of those rare, secret thoughts. Besides, he’d been on the wrong end of those Gallaghers quite enough in his life, and had no desire to put himself on the radar of anyone else in that family. 

Maybe he’d give Harry Pultzman a call. 


End file.
